Austin had to hand it to Gant. The man was incredibly controlled. A slight tightening of his lips was his only reaction to Austin's bombshell.
"I'm afraid I would have to tell you that I wouldn't know what you were talking about."
"Maybe the Southern Belle might refresh your memory."
He shook his head. "A Mississippi riverboat, no doubt?"
"The Belle was a giant cargo ship. She was sunk by a couple of giant waves on a voyage to Europe."
"I'm the director of a foundation dedicated to fighting the global influence of multinational corporations. That's the closest I come to transoceanic commerce."
"Sorry for wasting your time," Austin said. "Maybe I should talk to Tris Margrave about this."
He rode off at a trot.
"Wait." Gant spurred his mount and caught up with him. "Where are you going?"
The Arabian halted, and Austin pivoted in the saddle. "I thought you wanted me off the property."
"I'm being very rude. I'd like to invite you back to the house for a drink."
Austin pondered the invitation. "It's a little early for a drink, but I'd settle for a glass of water."
"Splendid," Gant said. "Follow me."
He led Austin off the hill, and they rode through the meadows where horses grazed until they came to a tree-lined driveway that led to Gant's house. Austin had expected a mansion, but he was unprepared for the Tudor-style architectural monstrosity that loomed out of the Virginia countryside.
"Quite the shack," he said. "The foundation must pay you well, Mr. Gant."
"I was a successful international businessman before I saw the error of my ways and organized the Global Interest Network."
"Nice to have a hobby."
Gant replied with a white-toothed smile.
"It's no hobby, Mr. Austin. I'm quite dedicated to my work."
They dismounted and handed the reins to the grooms, who led the horses to an area where a number of horse trailers were clustered.
Gant noticed Austin watching his horse being led away. "They'll take good care of your mount. Nice-looking animal, by the way."
"Thanks. I borrowed her for a few hours to take a ride over here."
"I was wondering about that," Gant said. "How did you get past my security fence? I've got cameras and alarms all over the place."
"Just lucky, I guess," Austin said with a straight face.
Gant suspected that Austin made his own luck, but he didn't press the matter. He'd take it up with Doyle. His security chief was making his way toward them. He glanced at Austin, the only person not dressed for the foxhunt. "Is there a problem, Mr. Gant?"
"Not at all. This is Kurt Austin. He's my guest. Remember his face so you'll recognize him the next time you see him."
Doyle smiled, but the eyes that studied Austin's face were as pitiless as a viper's.
Gant led Austin to a spacious patio where a crowd of red jackets had gathered. The intrepid hunters were drinking from champagne flutes and laughing as they relived the morning's kill. The gathering was exclusively male and high-powered. Austin didn't spend a lot of time in Washington, but he recognized the faces of a number of politicians, government officials and lobbyists. Gant was apparently well plugged in to the Beltway establishment.
Gant ushered him along a gravel path to a polished marble table set off by itself in the corner of an English garden. He ordered a servant to bring them a pitcher of ice water, and invited Austin to take a seat.
Austin sat down, placed his cap on the table and looked around. "I didn't know there were any private foxhunting clubs left in Virginia."